


R.S. (I) Oostende

by Sarah_Elmira_Royster_Poe



Series: The Geography of Europe [1]
Category: Cloud Atlas (2012), Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
Genre: Gen, Oostend, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 11:55:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1604270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Elmira_Royster_Poe/pseuds/Sarah_Elmira_Royster_Poe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An epistle written by Rufus Sixmith to Robert Frobisher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	R.S. (I) Oostende

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greatcatsbys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greatcatsbys/gifts).



A loaded gun in trembling fingers,  
All that commotion threatening to come to a halt all at once,  
And the scariest thing of all is that  
I will let you  
(perhaps wanting to keep you alive  
writhing in my hands,  
as they trail warm skin,  
familiar strands of hair.  
As they claim)

Tell me, would you?  
How your mind can wrap around these things,  
Committing them to memory,  
Depicting them in eternity  
With a piece of string and a few fleeting breaths;  
Barely touching

You were never that man,  
You pretended to be  
\- all encompassing  
all seeing  
all feeling.

You were never that woman,  
You wanted to be  
\- strived –  
All soft edges and angular curves  
You did not quite match.

That is why you lived in arrogance,  
Dared to fly away from this grey city  
To an even duller one,  
But bringing with you all the joy of spring,  
Of the tranquil waters of the small river crossing St. Magdalene’s

Shady trees and gold buried down inside earth did not suit you  
You sought for the dismissive Eva and her loving mother  
For the low class steward and blind musician

But yet, you kept turning back,  
In all your brilliance, you remembered  
Me  
You had me  
\- twisted around your finger –  
Me  
Waiting for your eulogies  
Starving for your  
Dramatic, too shallow, too cruel  
Words

How you begged and bragged!  
How could you do both, in just one sentence  
In one light sigh of the ivory keys?

You should have learnt to run faster after all  
How ignorant you’ve been!

You descended – fled – expensive hotels from rusty drainpipes  
You boarded trains with one-way tickets  
And you walked by mountains with your singing hands and your breathless mind  
That is what I want to remember  
You  
On an old bicycle – borrowed, stolen –  
Strolling the Belgian countryside  
With a stack of M.S. papers fastened at your side  
And the smell of battered pastry  
\- from that bakery at Oostend you liked so much –  
Whistling,  
Dreaming a dream fueled by a critique at The Times and a disappointed father.  
Yours eternally,  
R.F.

P.S. I know, Pater, you liked to call him


End file.
